Evie's heart skipped a beat, for it was a woman's voice. She whirled around, yet the duke steadfastly stared straight ahead as if he hadn't heard a sound.

Indeed, everyone save the duke—and the vicar, who was already facing the congregation, turned to survey a tall, veiled woman standing in the rear pew, holding over her head what appeared to be a rolled up document, seals dangling from it.

"Notwithstanding the fact you're not a man, what is your objection?" Mr. Phipps barked.

"My marriage to the duke was arranged many years ago by our respective fathers." She glided smoothly down the aisle, almost as if she were skating. Evie might have despised her for that alone, but for the possibility that this might get her out of marrying the duke.

But then what? She still needed his protection in the event she was charged with treason. And a possible father for the child she might have conceived with Gareth.

As the woman thrust herself between bride and groom, she threw back her veil to reveal golden hair and eyes the color of lilacs, and at once Evie knew two things:

One, Bradbury's alleged missing bride was Mrs. Cassandra Frey, notorious widow. Evie was beginning to think there was no other kind.

Two, she resolved then and there that she would marry Bradbury and force herself to like it and even love him before she'd ever let the Widow Frey dig her hooks into him.

Apparently, the duke felt the same way, for he continued staring straight ahead as he flatly said, "Proceed."

Mrs. Frey slapped him on the shoulder with the document. He did not betray the slightest reaction. "She's not your bride. She doesn't even want to marry you."

"I object!" Evie cried.

Mrs. Frey glowered back at her. "No, you don't, Miss Benedict. You don't even love him."

"Do you?"

"That is quite beside the point. Unlike you, the duke and I were betrothed as children, making us as good as married."

The duke, his gaze still fixed dead ahead, said, "Then why did you marry Mr. Frey?"

"That was not my choice, Your Grace. And Mr. Frey no longer occupies this mortal coil. You are under no obligation to marry Miss Benedict, and I daresay you don't want to marry her any more than you wanted to marry her mother."

"Or you. So what makes you think I will marry you now?"

"This." With a snap of her wrist, she unfurled the document and held it out to Mr. Phipps for his scrutiny. "Read for yourself."

The vicar lowered the prayer book, lifted his chin, and adjusted his spectacles as he peered at the document that stubbornly curled back up, and with his free hand he gripped the bottom edge and held it taut.

"It is indeed a marriage contract, with the seal of the previous Duke of Bradbury," said Mr. Phipps. "If Your Grace would direct your attention to—"

"That Duke of Bradbury shuffled off this mortal coil long before Mr. Frey did," the duke said testily. "I am now the duke. I am free to choose my own bride. And I have chosen Miss Benedict. Contract notwithstanding, Mrs. Frey has no claim to my name, my title, my fortune, my affections, or anything else to do with me. Now kindly proceed, Vicar, before someone else gets it into their fool head to make a different kind of objection."

Mrs. Frey tore the document from the vicar's grasp. "I happen to know that Your Grace betrothed yourself to Lady Milner—"

"Lady Frampton," Evie's mother piped up from the front pew. "I am now the Marchioness of Frampton."

"Well, whoever you're married to this week," Mrs. Frey said, "but your recent attempt to ensnare the duke—"

"She did not ensnare me," he said heatedly.

"Well, it was all to lure your long-lost bride into the open so you could finally marry her. Lady Milner—pardon me, Lady Frampton—told me so herself."

"That's before I found out who the long-lost bride really was," he shot back.

"Then it isn't me?" Evie finally said.

Mrs. Frey held up the document in front of Evie's face. Sure enough, it was a contract from the last century, promising Lord Demetrius Aubrey Norbert Elton Armstrong, as he was known at the time, in marriage to Miss Cassandra Diana Payne, as she was known at the time.

"I should have known," Evie mumbled. "It was never me. It could never have been me."

"It is you," said Bradbury, his gaze still fixed straight ahead.

Evie fought the urge to throw down her bouquet in disgust. "Your Grace hasn't even looked at me since I entered the church. How do you even know who's standing next to you?"

"Mrs. Frey is standing next to me right now, and I don't need to look at her. I know what she looks like. I know what you look like, Miss Benedict. Proceed, Vicar."

Mrs. Frey did not budge. She remained between the duke and Evie, determined to put them asunder.

"Proceed," the duke ground out.

Mr. Phipps cleared his throat and returned to his prayer book. "I require and—" A sudden pounding on the church door echoed throughout the nave like a barrage of cannon fire, making everyone jump.

Everyone save the duke—and again, the vicar, since he already faced that way—turned to see who was making a late entrance.

Could it be Gareth, come to object? Hope surged within Evie as she whirled around.

"Eglantine!" screamed a man's frantic voice from the other side of the doors. "Eg-lan-tine!"

"Oh, no," she whispered, her heart plunging like a rock into the churning sea of her stomach as the doors finally swung open to reveal what had recently surpassed eternal spinsterhood as her worst nightmare.

"Am I too late to object?" Lord Kingsley asked.

"You are if you're claiming to be my missing bride," the duke answered.

Panic-stricken, Evie spun back to Mr. Phipps. "For the love of humanity, Vicar—proceed!"

"Wait!" Kingsley called out, as he bounded down the aisle. "Miss Eglantine Benedict has already agreed to marry me. She accepted my proposal a month ago."

"What?" Ross scowled. "Who the de—who are you?"

Kingsley skidded to a halt right behind the bridal party. "George Sutton, Earl of Kingsley, at your service. You must be Lord Tyndall. Your sister agreed to marry me last month."

"If that is true, then she did so without my consent."

"Eggie doesn't need your consent. She's well over one and—yowp!" He cowered and staggered back as Evie slapped him over the head with her bridal bouquet—not once, but twice.

"That second one is for stealing a book from the lending library and passing it off as your own purchase as a gift to me," she added. "Oh, and—" In a flurry of petals, she struck him with the bouquet again. "That's for never getting my name right! I am not"—whap—"Eveline, or"—whap—"Emmeline, or even"—whap—"Eglantine!" Whap!

"That, and I never gave my blessing, either," Ross added, "so your objection, Lord Kingsley, is not valid—all the more so since I have no sister named Eglantine." He turned to the vicar. "Proceed."

Mr. Phipps proceeded. "I require and charge you both, at the dreadful day of—"

"You needn't bother," Evie snapped. "I don't want to marry. Not the duke, not the earl, not—" She whirled around yet again, this time storming up the aisle as everyone murmured in astonishment.

"Not anyone?" the duke called after her.

She knew the man she wanted to marry. But he wasn't here. No doubt he was already en route to the Continent, or India, or even the Americas.

"Evie!" Ross called after her.

"Evie!" her mother cried.

Halfway down the aisle she paused at the realization that the entire village was gathered out there, waiting for her to emerge with her bridegroom. Something told her they'd cheer and toss flower petals even if she happened to emerge alone. She pivoted to her left and headed straight for the south porch of the church.

She threw open the door and marched out, slamming it behind her.

"How did you know I was out here?"

She stopped short with a gasp at the sight of a man bowing before her as he doffed his beaver hat.

He lifted his head and smiled. "You're alone. Then I must assume you're not married yet? Your bouquet looks as if it's been tossed already, only to fall into another chandelier."

Evie was too stunned to speak. All she could do was gawp at him.

Gareth's smile faded, and now his expression was as grave as the last time she saw him. The memory pulled tears from her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Evie," he said. "I wouldn't blame you one bit if you never forgave me. But I should never have left you the way I did. I should never have suspected you, or doubted you, or any of the other horrible things I did to you that day."

She gulped down the sob clogging her throat. "Not everything you did that day was horrible."

He smiled anew. "Should that give me cause to hope?"

"Only if you're here to object to my marrying your brother."

He stepped toward her. "I'm not here only for that, Evie. I'm here to tell you I was wrong. That I love you with all my heart and soul. And if you haven't married anyone else yet, then I hope you will marry me and make me the happiest of men."

"Oh, yes, Gareth!" she exclaimed through her tears, as she rushed forward and threw herself into his warm, strong embrace. "Oh yes! I love you, too!"

Their lips met in a deep, passionate kiss.

Somewhere nearby, she heard the door open and close. And then the duke's voice.

"Gareth! Thank God you made it. For a while there I thought I might actually have to marry her."

Gareth broke the kiss and gazed over Evie's head at his brother. "I wouldn't approve of that any more than I approved of you marrying her mother. That was some trick the two of you pulled on Frampton, not to mention me and Evie. But it's what brought us together."

"What?" Astonished, Evie pulled back from Gareth and craned her neck to survey the duke, who wore a broad smile. "Do you mean to tell me, Your Grace, that you were never going to marry me at all?"

"Only if my brother didn't show up in time. That was a close call."

"What about Mrs. Frey?"

"I happily released her from our betrothal years ago because she was in love with someone else. She was only returning the favor. We have no wish to marry. And you didn't really want to marry me, either." To Gareth, "What took you so long to show up?"

"It's a long story that I'll gladly tell only after Evie and I are married."

"Then let's get married now!" Evie exclaimed.